


Unchained

by October_rust



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, PWP, Rutting, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 20:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13279419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: After two months of torture and being trapped in wolf form, Jason is human again.Tim takes care of him, even though he and Jason are still mostly enemies.





	Unchained

The silver collar is tight against his throat.

The metal burns and itches, vibrating with powerful spells, and Jason lets out a long whine. It comes out weak and pitiful; even though his hackles rise, he can't muster up enough energy to lift his head from his paws. 

Yes, it's necessary, he knows. The rational, human part of him is well aware that Bruce and Replacement are simply trying to help. But his wolf is hurting, confused and full of anger at being trapped inside a cell.

Still, they have to force the change. After two months in Black Mask's hands, he can no longer shift back on his own.

“I wish there was another way,” Bruce says, as he watches Jason through the glass. He looks tired, his face pale and drawn. “But Black Mask didn't really leave us any other options.”

Jason's wolf growls quietly at the mention of Black Mask's name. He shudders as memories flash through his mind. Black Mask stroking his fur and calling him a good boy, just before the experiments began. The needles and the scalpels descending, piercing and cutting through his flesh. The endless haze of agony.

“Get some rest, Bruce.” Drake lays a hand on Bruce's shoulder. He doesn't seem all that better himself; there are shadows under his eyes, and his features are just as strained with exhaustion as Bruce's. “I will stay with him.”

For a long moment, Bruce stares at Drake in silence. Then, wonder of wonders, he gives a curt nod. Perhaps he's too worn out to argue.

“Don't worry,” Drake says. “Zatanna promised that this would work, that this night is the best time to use the collar. We simply have to wait for a few hours more.” He lightly squeezes Bruce's shoulder. “But he's going to come back to you, Bruce.”

It's almost imperceptible, and yet Jason's senses are sharp enough that he picks up on the subtle loosening of the tension in Bruce's body. As if Jason needed any more proof that Drake has a good influence on Batman, to the point where he can make Bruce listen for once.

Drake may be flying solo in his red-black suit these days, but when it counts he's still the perfect, dutiful Robin to Bruce's Batman. The Robin that Batman actually trusts, the Robin whose judgment Batman values.

Jason bares his fangs, the white-hot surge of grudging respect and the old, bitter jealousy far too overwhelming for his wolf.

Bruce glances down at Jason. “Be careful,” he says to Drake, and turns to leave, the black cape billowing behind him. His footsteps grow fainter and fainter, until they can no longer be heard, even by Jason's pricked up ears.

So now he and Drake are alone in the cave, with the screeching bats circling overhead as their only company.

To his credit, Drake gives Jason space. He doesn't try to fill the air between them with some inane chatter; instead, he makes himself as unobtrusive as possible and settles in front of the computer, his attention on the array of case files displayed on the monitors.

Lying on the floor, Jason observes Drake from behind the glass door. The spells woven into the silver are sapping away his strength, drop by drop, and the waves of desperation and impatience from his wolf are getting more and more difficult to hold at bay. 

Minutes trickle by, slow as molasses. 

Jason keeps his focus on Drake.

And just as he's losing track of the passage of time, suspended in this weird state, with his wolf snarling at him to be let out, the change comes over him.

It's swift and cruel. The magic – up until now a dull, persistent ache – explodes inside his body, flaring up through every nerve. His bones and tendons snap with a sickening crunch, then instantly reknit. The fur, claws, and fangs all retract; his blood boils like a molten lava as it rushes through his veins.

For one, terrible moment, he thinks that he's about to die. Still, despite his lungs pumping madly, despite the panicked cries of his wolf, he embraces the searing pain, lets the power of the collar crush and remake him.

He's nothing but mind and flesh being torn in half, nothing but a howling wolf and a screaming man.

And, suddenly, just as quickly as it has ignited, the fire ebbs away.

It's over.

With a trembling hand, he props himself up and draws deep, rasping breaths. 

He opens his eyes, blinks to make the black spots go away.

Human. 

He's human again.

After two months as a wolf, it's a barrage of confusing, alien sensations – blunt teeth and fingernails, dulled sight, hearing and smell, the vulnerable, naked skin. His tongue is stiff, the inside of his mouth filled with the bitter, ashen taste. Without his tail, his balance is all wrong; his muscles are so sore, too cramped to – 

Strong arms catch him, preventing him from pitching forward. Jason shudders all over, still dizzy, and leans into the touch. It's Drake, he realizes. His Replacement. 

When has Drake entered the cell?

It doesn't matter, though, just as it doesn't matter much that he's showing weakness in front of Drake. The embrace feels too good; being held like that, enveloped in warmth, and knowing that Drake won't use any of this against him, won't demand anything in return, is a gift. A wonderful, unexpected gift that Jason doesn't truly understand.

What are they to each other, given that Jason tried to kill the kid more than once?

Friendly enemies? Reluctant allies?

Too complicated, so Jason pushes away any nagging thoughts, buries his face in the crook of Drake's neck, and breathes in deeply. His wolf, now calmer and quieter, perks up, intrigued by Drake's scent.

Huh.

Surprised, Jason inhales again. And this time, he catches a whiff of his own human body.

“Jesus,” he mutters, wrinkling his nose. “I stink.”

“That's a pretty mild way of putting it,” Drake says, but doesn't pull away. In fact, he lets Jason snuggle closer, and his fingers start rubbing soothing circles between Jason's shoulder blades. “You reek, Hood.”

“Yeah. Help me up.”

Drake complies, tightening his grip on Jason's waist and carefully maneuvering them both up from their knees.

As soon as he's finally standing upright, with Drake still supporting his weight, Jason reaches for the silver collar. Before he can so much as graze the clasp, however, Drake snatches his wrist, arresting the motion.

“Sorry,” he says. “But this has to stay on, for now. Zatanna's orders.”

Jason scowls, but drops his hand. “Can't argue with that.” He tries to take a step towards the door, only to be stopped when Drake doesn't move along with him.

“What?” he asks, too impatient to rein in his irritation.

“Are you going to walk around like that?” Drake raises an eyebrow. “Bruce has left you some sweatpants here, you know.”

Jason almost rolls his eyes. “Right now, I just want to wash that damned stench off, not get it all over clean clothes.” And, because he's an utter asshole, he gives his Replacement a nasty little smile. “Why? Does my naked ass bother you that much, Drake?”

Drake only shakes his head, exasperated, not deigning Jason with an answer. 

Ah, whatever. Jason still counts Drake's silence as a win.

Together, they make their way to the showers.

There, more or less on his own, Jason manages to stumble over to the sink and brush his teeth. Drake hovers nearby, just in case, then guides Jason to one of the stalls. All the while, ever after Jason's dumb comment, his touch remains firm and gentle.

So patient. So selfless.

The kid must be a fucking saint. 

Jason's mouth quirks as Drake leans against the wall next to the stall, gaze respectfully trained to the side, not on Jason. Timothy Drake-Wayne, the paragon of all the virtues. And now also Jason's knight in shining armor, it seems.

Right.

The thought is so absurd that Jason snorts out loud and turns on the hot water. It starts pounding over his aching muscles, warming him up in an instant. One hand braced against the tiles, he bows his head and lets the spray sluice away the dirt. 

Two months. 

Two months since he was last able to enjoy that.

Slowly, he soaps himself up, drags his fingers through his tangled hair. Mind blessedly empty, he concentrates on nothing but scrubbing off the old sweat and the sickly odor of pain and fear.

Finally, there's not a trace of Black Mask left on him anymore.

God, he's going to make the bastard pay. For every cut, every jab of the scalpel, every – 

His feet slide on the floor, his vision suddenly blurred, overtaken by the yawning blackness. All around him there are only whirling shadows, intangible, suffocating. He can't get out, can't find an anchor. Distressed, blind with panic, his wolf cries out for help.

“Jason!”

The black fog recedes; stunned, he stares down at Drake's worried face. It takes him another moment to register that Drake's arms are wrapped around his waist, steadying him, lending him strength.

His Replacement has saved him from the fall, yet again.

His Replacement.

The words pound in his head, like a drum, and he clutches at Drake's shoulders, presses his cheek against the crown of soft black hair. Drake's scent wafts to his nose, familiar and comforting. His wolf basks in it, rumbling with pleasure, yearning for more.

“Hood?” Drake whispers, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

One light shove, and he has Drake against the shower wall. Those blue eyes, usually so stoic and cool, glance up at him, wide with surprise and no small amount of wariness. And yet, underneath it all, there's heat and undisguised longing too. 

For Jason.

All of it, for Jason.

“And now you know,” Drake says, resigned, but still meeting Jason's gaze. “Go on, laugh.”

Laugh?

Oh, he likes what he sees, the bravery and determination radiating off Drake, the proud jut of Drake's chin, the way Drake is holding himself, ready to assume a fighting stance if necessary. Not intimidated in the slightest, despite Jason's proximity; not trying to disguise his emotions either, choosing instead to bare them all before Jason.

His wolf growls in approval. 

Drake may be only human, but he's a worthy opponent. 

Worthy to be challenged, worthy to be claimed.

“If this is one of your weird jok– “

He lunges forward, capturing Drake's mouth with his own, so that any unnecessary words can be left unsaid. Drake freezes, as if thunderstruck, but then his muscles coil, lethal and graceful, primed to strike. 

Yes, show me what you've got.

Show me.

Drake doesn't disappoint; he grabs a fistful of Jason's hair, yanks hard at the strands. His teeth sink into Jason's bottom lip, splitting it open, and the kiss becomes darker, rich with the heavy tang of blood.

It's intoxicating, that razor-sharp edge of pain, calling forth to the predator in Jason. Snarling, he pushes back, retaliates with more bites, more lashes of his tongue. Drake answers in kind, just as hungry, just as violent. 

Frantic, they move together, straining, grasping at each other with greedy hands. It's not enough, though, and Drake tears his mouth away from the kiss to latch onto Jason's neck, bruising the skin above the silver collar. Mine, that touch says, and Jason moans at the aggression in it, at the fiery need that Drake is burning with. 

Yes, mark me.

Mark me, pay me back for the scar I cut into your throat.

Drake smiles, and it's the only warning before his teeth clamp hard on the tendon, driving another hoarse noise from Jason. No quarter from Red Robin, not tonight. And, as if to underscore the point, Drake hooks his right leg over Jason's hips, digs his booted heel into the swell of Jason's ass. 

Jason follows the unspoken command, blanketing Drake's body with his own. The wolf in him doesn't mind being caged like that, bracketed by Drake's slender thighs. It's a wrestling match, a test of strength and will, and, in his wolf's eyes, Drake is passing it with flying colors. 

There's just one last step in their race, so Jason reaches between them, fumbles first with Drake's utility belt until it clatters to the floor, then with the suit itself, wrenching it open. His fingers dive in, shaking with impatience, and close around Drake's cock. 

Fast, merciless Jason starts to stroke, pulling at the smooth skin, teasing the flared crown. And, god, it's the right strategy, because now it's Drake's turn to throw his head back, to let those reddened lips part on a strangled gasp.

Yes, pretty bird, beg for more.

But it's only a momentary lapse; Drake's eyes glint beneath the lowered lashes, and then Drake is twisting, surging back at Jason, angling his body in such a way so that he can grip Jason's cock in a tight, calloused fist.

Mine.

That's all it takes; Jason slams Drake into the wall, hips pumping, mind clouded with the haze of red. He wants to devour, to fuck, to bind Drake to himself with unbreakable chains. Drake matches him thrust for frenzied thrust, rutting against him, one hand working Jason's length, the other holding like a vise onto Jason's nape.

So good, to be tangled so close, to feel their hearts thudding the same wild beat. Jason digs his fingers into Drake's thigh, hikes it higher around his waist. Soon, he can't keep up the rhythm, and his awareness narrows down to the chaotic flashes – harsh panting mingling with curses, Drake's fingers overlapping his, the wet, obscene slide of his cock against Drake's.

Sweat and water drip from his brow, as he and Drake rock together, their movements increasingly jerky and uneven, spurred on by the mounting desperation.

Almost there, almost.

Heat ignites at the base of his spine, before his hips snap one final time, so abrupt that it makes both him and Drake hiss in pain. He goes rigid, trying in vain to stop the inevitable. But pleasure sweeps over him in an all-consuming tidal wave, and he's caught in it, his cock convulsing and spurting thick ropes of come. Drake follows right after, coming all over Jason's abs, muffling his cry against Jason's throat.

Spent, trembling with aftershocks, Jason sags into the welcoming warmth of Drake's body. Water is raining over them, and Jason simply wants to stay like that, close to Drake, with Drake's scent soothing the storm inside him.

Eventually, clarity returns. With reluctance, he draws away, winces when he sees the splatters of his come on Red Robin's uniform. Some of it is even smeared on the sodden black cape. And yet his wolf, although half asleep, feels nothing but a deep territorial satisfaction at the sight.

“Drake.” He clears his throat, ashamed, still looking down at the ruined suit. “Tim, I ...” 

He doesn't finish. Drake's fingers land on his lips, cutting him off. 

Jason glances up at him, stunned. 

Drake's – Tim's – eyes sparkle with amusement. Idly, he traces the silver collar circling Jason's neck, then brushes his knuckles over Jason's jaw, his touch both oddly gentle and possessive.

“Just shut up, will you?” he says.

And then he curls his hand around Jason's nape, exerting firm pressure, pulling down, until Jason's lips are on his again.

With a deep, grateful sigh, Jason sinks into the kiss.


End file.
